


upon your hips

by andchaos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Bottom!Ian, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, M/M, Riding, Rimming, basically this is just pointless dick-riding with some accidental rimming thrown in, uhh throw me in the trash, y'know just once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey rode dick like he was born for it. He looked so good with his head thrown back, his body cast even paler than usual in the moonlight streaming through the window. His fingers clenched into Ian’s chest and Ian couldn’t breathe, could barely focus enough to keep up with him as he kept fucking himself down onto him, brow furrowed with concentration, lips parted, his breathing shallow. Mickey’s thighs were turning a bright red from being worked so hard, and Ian couldn’t stop himself from grasping desperately at his hips, thrusting up into him and giving as good as he got.</p>
<p>Or:<br/>Three times Mickey rode Ian (and one time it was the other way around).</p>
            </blockquote>





	upon your hips

from all the posts in [this tag](http://fuku-up.tumblr.com/search/letmickeyrideian2k15) and one from [this one](http://fuku-up.tumblr.com/search/letianridemickey2k15).

special shoutout to the appearance of Ian’s very talented tongue last night that inspired an important piece of this fic

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I.

          Ian’s favorite part of coming home was seeing Mickey.

          When he first kicked off his shoes in the entrance to their bedroom, he thought Mickey was asleep. He was spread out on his stomach in the middle of their bed, breathing slow and even. Ian was just wondering how he was supposed to maneuver a sleeping Mickey Milkovich into a suitable position to share a bed with when a voice croaked out from where he had been staring.

          “You gonna stand there all night? I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour already.”

          “Hey,” said Ian, kneeling beside him on the mattress. He rested a hand on Mickey’s back, kneading gently. “I thought you were sleeping. You waited up for me?”

          Mickey finally opened his eyes and craned his neck to look up at him, a half-smile cracking its way onto his face. “Yeah,” he said, sounding almost, but not quite, blasé. “Thought we could have some fun, since I’m gonna be leaving for three days tomorrow doing that job with Iggy.”

          Ian grinned and stood up, not pressing any further in favor of stripping out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Mickey sat up, his smile seeming extra bright in the dark of their bedroom. Mickey sat close to the edge of the bed, watching Ian tug off his clothes, and he pulled at Ian’s hips as soon as he was bare. Ian went willingly to him, leaning over him as Mickey laid back on the bed. He balanced on one hand on the mattress while the other swept over Mickey’s chest, just once, before tilting his chin up and angling him so that Ian could press his lips easily to Mickey’s.

          Ian licked into his mouth, loving how Mickey opened so beautifully and willingly for him. He pressed him down onto the bed, and Mickey used the grip he still had to pull Ian’s hips down into his. Ian moved to kiss at the exposed line of his throat as Mickey arched into the contact he had created, head tilted to give Ian room. After a minute Ian felt legs sliding around his back and then Mickey was rolling them over, recapturing his mouth and grinding against him hard. Ian sighed into his mouth, wanting more, needing more. Needing Mickey.

          “Fuck me,” Mickey panted against his lips like he could read his mind. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

          “We need to get you ready first—”

          “I’m ready, I—” Mickey paused to draw Ian’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking at it before he bit down harshly and pulled back. “—I got myself ready while I was waiting.”

          Ian pressed his lips to Mickey’s collar, hands drifting downwards. He growled lowly against his skin and squeezed down hard on his ass. “Without me?”

          Mickey sat up, nails digging into Ian’s chest. He kept steady eye contact as he lifted up off of him, and Ian could feel his ass just barely brushing the head of his cock. He longed to rock up into him but kept still, knowing Mickey would make it so, so good if he waited. A smile still playing around the edge of his lips, Mickey got a firmer grip on Ian’s hips and, in one smooth motion, lowered himself down onto Ian’s cock. He must have _really_ prepared (a fact Ian recognized with some measure of chagrin, because he would have _loved_ to see Mickey fucking himself long enough to be able to take him so quickly and easily) because he barely paused before he started up a fast rhythm, fucking himself down onto Ian with almost brutal force.

          “Fu- _uck_ ,” Ian gasped, feeling like his breath had been punched out of him as Mickey fucked him.

          Mickey somehow managed to smirk, despite the flush creeping up his neck and his heavy breathing as he continued to fuck himself faster and faster onto Ian, his thighs working and tensing around Ian. “Yeah, without you,” he said, almost conversationally. “That a problem?”

          Ian found that he couldn’t speak; he watched Mickey watching him as his mouth fell open, but he couldn’t help it. Mickey raised his eyebrow and gave a dark laugh when met with continued silence.

          “That’s what I thought,” he said, and then he shut up. Ian imagined he wanted to refocus on what he was doing, because he had Ian moaning for him not long afterwards.

          Mickey rode dick like he was born for it. He looked so good with his head thrown back, his body cast even paler than usual in the moonlight streaming through the window. His fingers clenched into Ian’s chest and Ian couldn’t breathe, could barely focus enough to keep up with him as he kept fucking himself down onto him, brow furrowed with concentration, lips parted, his breathing shallow. Mickey’s thighs were turning a bright red from being worked so hard, and Ian couldn’t stop himself from grasping desperately at his hips, thrusting up into him and giving as good as he got.

          They were both sweating from the effort, and Ian half wanted to somehow get his mouth all over this magnificent boy riding his lap so perfectly and half wanted to lay back so that he could see every part of Mickey in all of his sweating, panting glory.

          A droplet of sweat ran around Mickey’s ear and down across his neck, lingering in the hollow of his throat and threatening to dip over with every shove downwards of his body. Ian’s resolved wavered, his hips stuttering in driving up into Mickey, and the hesitation had him dragging over Mickey’s sweet spot. Mickey groaned, guttural and deep, and Ian’s determination cracked.

          He surged upwards, forcing Mickey further onto his lap, and crashed his lips into his. Mickey gasped brokenly with the new position, and Ian bit harshly at his trembling lip, drawing more noises out of him. Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s back, forcing him up so that Ian could fold his legs underneath himself and get better leverage to thrust up into him. Mickey tried to duck his head against him but Ian grabbed a handful of hair and tugged, forcing a grunt from Mickey as his head was jerked backwards. Before he could even ask what Ian was doing, Ian had leaned forward and licked a long stripe up his neck. Mickey’s head dropped further back without prompting, allowing Ian plenty of skin to lick and suck at wherever he wanted. He sucked an angry red mark into the soft skin beneath Mickey’s ear and then bit down hard, drawing a harsh cry from Mickey.

          “I-Ian—”

          Ian was talking over his plaintive whine before it even finished, his voice rough as he turned to speak directly into Mickey’s ear. “You’re so hot like this, Mick. God, look at you. Fucking desperate for it, fucking screaming for my cock even when it’s already so far inside you, filling you up so full. _Fuck_ , you’re amazing—do you even know how fucking beautiful you are right now?”

          Mickey clawed at his back, trying to fuck himself down harder onto Ian despite how Ian had him all caged in, completely at his mercy. Ian drove up harder into Mickey, and he could feel Mickey’s thighs trembling where they had fallen open around his own. _“Ian.”_

          Ian pressed his lips back to Mickey’s neck, drew another bruise out of his skin. His hand fell to close over Mickey’s cock. “I know, Mickey. Fuck, I know, I know. Shit, come on. You’re so close, and so good— _Mickey_. Mickey, come for me, come on.”

          And Mickey did, with a long, loud shout that sounded like a mangled version of Ian’s name. Ian fucked him through it, hard and erratic until he too spilled over the edge.

          They fell back on the bed when both their cries died down, tangled up but too exhausted to care. Mickey slid off of him after a minute or two, but kept close, an arm thrown over his waist and his face buried in Ian’s side. Ian could still feel the sweat dripping down off Mickey’s forehead, cold and sticky and somewhat gross where it fell onto his stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to care just yet.

          After a few more minutes he ruffled a hand through Mickey’s hair and pushed him off so that he could go clean up. He ignored Mickey’s mumbled protest and the hand that groped feebly after him as he slid off the bed, wiping them both down with a towel from the bathroom. He threw it into a corner to be dealt with later and laid back down, rolling Mickey over him to keep them both out of the wet spot. His eyes drifted closed quickly, more than ready for sleep.

          Mickey’s voice pulled him back to consciousness a second away from slumber.

          “You’re talky when you get into it,” he said, yawning and burrowing closer to Ian. His way of saying, _hey, that made me uncomfortable but I kind of liked it, so please make a decision for me._

          Ian heard him loud and clear. He snorted and threw a leg over Mickey’s and leaned down to press a kiss into his hair before he settled back into the sheets, cradling Mickey closer to his chest.

          “Yeah,” he agreed. He could feel Mickey tensing, and hesitated a second before adding, “Meant it, though.”

          He could feel Mickey’s blush burning his cheeks straight through to Ian’s own skin.

 

 

II.         

          Ian woke up slowly, the feeling of something warm and wet around his cock slowly rousing him.

          He blinked his way to consciousness, feeling automatically under the blankets for Mickey’s hair. He was so used to this sensation by now that he knew exactly how far down to reach before he encountered the smooth strands, and he stretched his fingers through them gratefully. Ian wasn’t even hard yet, but it still felt nice to have Mickey there between his legs, his lips and tongue working him over thoroughly.

          Mickey pulled away after a minute or so, and Ian felt the slightest press of his lips against his inner thigh before he heard a coarse, sleepy voice float up from beneath the sheets.

          “What’s the matter, dude? You dream about dead puppies or something?”

          “No,” Ian sighed. He scratched lightly at Mickey’s scalp, a silent indication that he was doing fine. “Keep going, I’m just tired. I need a minute to work up to it.”

          Mickey snorted, and he heard him rustling beneath the covers. He imagined Mickey was getting more comfortable. “Whatever you say,” Mickey said, skepticism clear in his tone, but after a few seconds Ian felt his lips wrap back around him.

          Ian petted through his hair while he sucked determinedly at Ian’s slowly hardening cock, his hand languid even while his mind worked overtime pulling up the most obscene material from his mental vault to help get him going. They were all memories of things Mickey had said or done or moaned—the way he looked when Ian fucked him rough, the shift in his expression the exact second Ian hit his sweet spot, how he sounded gasping Ian’s name.

          That was sufficient, kind of. Mickey pulled off after a little while and tugged the blanket down over his back, revealing his head. He was grinning and smearing a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping away spit and precome and evidently pleased with his success.

          “You ready to go? I think I’m still stretched from last night.”

          Ian, still feeling a kind of aching tiredness in his bones, nevertheless rolled to his side to give Mickey room to get down on his hands and knees in the recently vacated spot. Ian settled on his knees behind him, one hand on Mickey’s hip, his thumb stroking the skin of his back around his waistline. He used his free hand to line up behind him so that he could push into him. This morning it was with the kind of slow speed that made Mickey groan with the prolonged feel of it, and Mickey buckled predictably down to his elbows. He pushed his ass back greedily to make Ian bottom out faster.

          Once he had, Ian let him adjust for a few seconds until Mickey started to fuck back on Ian himself, and Ian decided to regain control, grabbing his hips to push forward into him and setting a steady pace. Mickey gave a choked moan, bitten off as his teeth sunk into his own forearm. Ian kept his eyes fixed on the back of Mickey’s head as he thrust almost mechanically into him.

          Mickey was moaning beneath him. “Come on, faster,” he hissed. “ _Ian_. Ian, please.” He shoved back harder against him, but Ian just felt weighed down—he wanted desperately to speed up, for Mickey’s breathless whines to spark him awake the way they always did. He wanted to pound Mickey so hard and fast into the mattress that he was begging for it, screaming for it. But his body didn’t seem compelled to comply.

          “Please,” Mickey said again.

          Ian felt something heavy settle in his chest; Mickey obviously thought Ian teasing him, refusing him what he so desperately wanted for the sake of it. Going slower than he should have, wanting Mickey to plead with him, wanting to hear how badly Mickey wanted it. But Ian wanted it too, and that was the problem—he wanted so badly he could feel his own skin crawling with it, demanding to take Mickey the way he deserved to be had.

          A few more thrusts and Ian couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out without warning, heart constricting painfully at Mickey’s punched-out gasp, and rolled onto his side, back facing Mickey and his face buried in his hands.

          “I can’t,” he whispered, voice further muffled by his palms. “I can’t, I can’t.”

          He could feel Mickey readjusting behind him, probably floored and confused by the sudden shift within Ian. Ian didn’t realize he was still moaning the same two words over and over until he felt Mickey’s hand on his shoulder, and he shut himself up as Mickey was pressing up against his naked back. Ian wished he had bothered to pull the sheets over himself before Mickey could lay on them; he felt very exposed in that moment laying naked while Mickey rubbed soothingly up and down his arm, his lips against his spine.

          “What’s wrong?” Mickey asked. His voice was soft, and not only from being muffled by Ian’s skin. “Are you okay? Is it—”

          “I’m sorry.” Ian gasped the words over the end of Mickey’s sentence. He needed to get them out, but he also didn’t think he could stand to hear Mickey finish speaking. He didn’t want to know what he thought, didn’t want to be called crazy. Hated that that’s what it always boiled down to anyway.

          “Don’t be,” Mickey said, still in that tiny voice. He pressed another kiss to his back. “Your new prescription’s probably still settling. The doctor said you wouldn’t be fully up and running right away—”

          “Fuck the doctor!” Ian shouted, and he could feel how it startled Mickey by the way his hand paused on his arm. “I don’t have to…How are you taking this so lightly? I can’t even fuck you right!”

          “I’m just being realistic! Just because you can’t do everything straight away—”

          “I’m not useless!”

          “I know you’re not,” said Mickey, sounding patient even though they had had this fight a thousand times before, “but you don’t have to do everything alone.”

          The quiet declaration cowed Ian into silence. Mickey kissed his back again. Ian relaxed slightly, and, apparently taking that as encouragement, Mickey pressed his lips to Ian’s shoulder blade, and then a little further up, trailing a slow, hot track of kisses across his back to the top of his arm. He pulled gently at Ian’s shoulder and Ian let him ease him over onto his back. Mickey rolled on top of him, kissing up to his neck and over towards his ear, the lobe of which he pulled between his teeth. He tugged on it playfully, possibly as a distraction to the hand Ian could feel close over his cock. Mickey started to stroke him slow but sure, and he released his lobe to breathe hotly into his ear.

          “Let me help you,” Mickey murmured. “I can help you. I’m here.”

          “I can’t—” Ian started. He closed his eyes, hating how much it sounded like a sob.

          “I can do this for you.” Mickey’s tone, though honeyed, brooked no argument. So Ian didn’t argue.

          Mickey continued his unhurried rhythm over Ian’s cock, at the same time grinding down to ride his thigh. Ian did nothing, letting Mickey take over. He thrust up lethargically into Mickey’s grip, his hands tight on his waist, and let Mickey take care of him.

          Mickey’s breaths started coming in shorter, shallower pants, but he kept at it until Ian’s breathing got less measured as well. Mickey pulled away abruptly, his hand gentle in Ian’s hair while Ian dug into Mickey’s hips, tugging at him. Mickey pressed a soft kiss to his parted lips and sat up, and Ian flattened himself back on the bed, hands trailing over Mickey’s thighs as he rose up and slowly—so, so slowly—sank back down onto Ian’s cock.

          Mickey closed his eyes, and Ian heard his weighted exhale as he fully seated himself on top of him. Mickey shook his ass a little, adjusting Ian inside of himself, and Ian let out a low moan. He pressed his fingers hungrily into the soft skin of Mickey’s thighs and Mickey flicked his eyes back open, searching Ian’s expression. He seemed to approve of what he found there, because after a second or two he started to move on top of him. Minutely at first, just barely lifting himself up before taking the whole of Ian’s cock inside him again, but he picked up speed as he got going, getting less exact, until he was pulling himself almost completely off of Ian’s cock before taking it all in again in a swift motion.

          Ian was gasping before long, and although he didn’t have the energy to really reciprocate like he wanted to, he fucked up into Mickey as much as he could. Otherwise, he just let Mickey ride him. His fingers traced along Mickey’s ribs and high up on his chest, and when he reached where the sweat was starting to form by his collarbone, Ian brought his finger back to his own mouth and drew it almost curiously between his lips. Tasting it. Tasting Mickey.

          Mickey had been watching him steadily, but as soon as Ian started sucking on his finger, he threw his head back, eyes closed tightly. Ian knew he was getting close and used his spit-soaked hand to jack him off, trying to keep pace with the rhythm of Mickey’s hips as he dragged his hand up and down his cock.

          “It’s okay,” Ian said, and Mickey’s gaze snagged back on his. “You can come.”

          Mickey lost it; he came with a shout all over Ian’s hand and stomach, fucking himself through it the entire time. When it was over, he fell forward, catching himself with his lips inches from Ian’s. Ian used the new position to run his hands over Mickey’s sides and around his back, hugging him to his chest while his breathing steadied. Ian could feel Mickey’s heartbeat, fast against his own but decelerating the longer they stayed there. Ian was still hard, still buried in his ass, but he made no move to do anything until Mickey pulled away from him and sat back up.

          “Mickey—” Ian started, but Mickey clapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head. He started to move his hips again, rising and falling onto Ian’s lap in deep, measured waves.

          “I’m taking care of you,” Mickey reminded him.

          Ian didn’t answer, and Mickey didn’t release his mouth. He spread his free hand over Ian’s chest, eyes locked on his as he continued to ride him determinedly, with a purpose that Ian could feel seeping between them.

          When Ian came, he bit hard at Mickey’s palm. He arched off the bed and spilled into him, and Mickey leaned forward, the hand on Ian’s chest meandering up to stroke through his hair instead.

          They were inches apart. When Ian unclenched his teeth from Mickey’s skin, Mickey replaced his hand with his lips, kissing Ian deep. Ian clutched at his sides, wanting him closer, and Mickey fell against him without resistance. He pulled back after awhile and laid his forehead against Ian’s, and Ian leaned up to press one more kiss to his mouth before dropping back fully onto the bed.

          Mickey was caressing along his cheek and jaw, eyes watching him closely in their proximity.

          “I told you,” Mickey whispered into the space between their lips, “I’ll take care of you.”

          Ian slid his arms over Mickey’s back, drawing him down to him so that Mickey’s face was buried in his neck. He could feel the pressure of lips on his neck every now and again, each like a fleeting promise. _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here._

          “I love you,” Ian whispered back.

 

 

III.

          “Holy shit, Mickey,” Ian said.

          Mickey raised his eyebrows, evidently unsure if this meant Ian was in accord or dissent with his suggestion. He held up the handcuffs again, fiddling a little this time even as he raised his eyebrows and said, “So what do you say, Copper Cock?”

          Ian snorted at the nickname, dropping his shocked expression entirely. Mickey was undeterred, crowding Ian back against the bed until he hit the headboard and could then do nothing as Mickey crawled over him. He was practically sitting in his lap before he finally stopped. Mickey balanced over him and held up the toy again: A question.

          Ian tipped his head to one side, considering. He already knew what his answer would be, but he enjoyed making Mickey sweat a bit. He trailed his fingertips up his bare side while he still had free use of his hands. “What do I get if I say yes?” Ian asked.

          Mickey’s eyebrows arched further. “You get me fucking you really fucking hard and hot,” Mickey said bluntly, and Ian’s breath hitched. Mickey evidently caught the noise, because he grinned. “That a yes?”

          Ian hesitated, and then he was nodding slowly. Mickey’s grin turned predatory and he grabbed Ian’s wrist, stopping it from continuing its trail up his torso. Ian pulled away and slid down onto his back obligingly, and Mickey crawled over him to secure his wrists to the headboard. Ian had a really perfect view of Mickey’s ass from this angle, and he licked his lips, half-hoping that Mickey would use the position to ride his face or something. But he heard the lock click shut on the handcuffs and then Mickey was shimmying back down the bed, and Ian tried not to look too disappointed as Mickey laid down between his legs.

          “Come on, just fuck me,” Ian complained, kicking at Mickey’s ass. “We already sucked each other off for like, twenty minutes. You’re stretched, I’m hard. Let’s go.”

          Mickey glared up at him. “Excuse you, but who’s running the show right now?” he asked. Ian rolled his eyes. Mickey made an irritated sound in the back of his throat but sat up anyway, slinging his legs over Ian’s hips and looking down at him. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Ian was visited by a strong desire to chase it, to shove his own tongue into Mickey’s mouth and get him gasping, moaning around his mouth for Ian. Fuck. He was so fucked with this idea and Mickey hadn’t even gotten on him yet.

          “Come on,” he repeated, breathier than before.

          Mickey kneeled over him, eyes studying him before evidently deciding Ian had suffered enough. He wrapped a hand around Ian’s shaft and gave him a few graceless pumps before lining up with his hole. He sank down onto him, his mouth hanging open and his thighs tense.

          “Oh, shit,” Ian hissed when he was fully seated. “Oh, fuck. Okay.”

          That caught Mickey’s attention; his eyes snapped from the ceiling back to Ian’s, and he snickered. “You alright there?”

          “Yeah, shit. I just—didn’t realize how much I’d want to touch you.”

          Mickey smirked. He clenched his ass around Ian’s cock, drawing a gasp out of him, and didn’t give him any time to recover before he lifted up and began fucking himself on Ian’s cock.

          Ian’s fingers were scratching at the black fuzz on the handcuffs before long. He didn’t know where to look—at Mickey’s hands, scratching bright red marks down his sides; or his thighs, warm around his waist and flexing with every upstroke; or where he could see his own cock disappearing into Mickey’s tight, perfect ass, so good around him. He settled on Mickey’s face, mouth open and panting, his tongue pressing against his cheek, lips red from being bitten. Ian wanted that mouth all over him.

          “Mickey, please—” he whined, toes curling helplessly on the mattress.

          “I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Mickey said, shoving himself down onto Ian’s lap again. “Oh, fuck.”

          Ian’s hips stuttered up pathetically, unable to do anything as Mickey fucked himself down on Ian’s cock. Mickey’s hands paused on his chest and his nails dug in.

          “Mickey,” he tried again. “I need you, fuck, I need my hands—I _need_ —”

          He cut off in a choked moan when Mickey bent down and took his nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the nub, teeth scraping over his skin. From there Mickey could only really rock down onto his lap, not fuck himself fully like Ian wanted him to. Ian planted his feet on the mattress, trying to drive up into Mickey himself, but it was pointless without his hands to manhandle Mickey into the right position and with him trapped beneath him like this.

          His wrists started to burn from digging so hard into the cheap plastic of the handcuffs, even with the fuzz surrounding the entire thing.

          His next whine was cut off by Mickey’s mouth, _finally_. He bit eagerly at Mickey’s lip and sucked at his tongue, demanding more of him. Mickey groaned, low and throaty, and pulled away too soon to bite once at his neck before he was sitting up again, getting into a faster rhythm. Ian was panting. His eyes snagged on a bead of sweat trailing lazily down Mickey’s neck and he found that he couldn’t let it go; he pushed his tongue against his teeth, trying to calm down but wanting so badly to get his mouth all over him.

          “Mick,” he rasped out again. His nails were digging hard into his own palms, needing to grab onto something, anything, wishing it were Mickey’s skin instead of his own.

          Mickey scratched his nails down Ian’s chest in response, sucking on his own bottom lip. The hand not steady on his chest pushed Ian’s legs back flat on the bed and squeezed at his thigh, the pressure of it building the longer it stayed there, but Ian didn’t notice. He couldn’t even really move his hips from this position, so he just had to lay there and _take_ it, which had seemed such a hot idea before Mickey was on top of him but now Ian was in him and Mickey was over him and on him but it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t touching Mickey enough, and Ian just itched everywhere. The kind of itch that needed Mickey’s skin pressing down on all sides to fully abate.

          “I’m close, Ian.”

          Mickey’s voice brought Ian back from his wild search for a way to get himself closer, and he tried to settle his mind back into making sure Mickey came apart. He stared openly now; he always loved watching Mickey lose control. Mickey wasn’t working Ian’s cock like before, but was just taking him deep and making these aborted little movements, ass flush against his hips and never leaving.

          “Mickey,” Ian pleaded again, because _fuck_ but he was close too. Mickey slammed his mouth down over Ian’s right as he clenched his ass around him, and Ian came with a muffled shout.

          Mickey kept kissing and riding him until he was done. Even then he didn’t stop kissing him, pulling out, and he was still hard and fucking his hips stutteringly against Ian’s stomach but he seemed content to let Ian calm down first before he demanded reciprocation.

          When Ian thought he could be of some use, he nipped at Mickey’s lip to make him pull back.

          “You good?” asked Mickey, and he just looked so devastatingly good with his lips red from Ian’s mouth and his cheeks flushed from fucking. Ian still _needed_ him, so badly.

          He didn’t bother with subtly. “I want my mouth on you,” Ian said loudly, in a tone that allowed for no arguments—not that Mickey was likely to argue with that particular point.

          Mickey blinked at him. “Okay.” He sat up, smoothing his hands down Ian’s chest and just looking back at him with an unreadable expression until Ian brought his knee up to dig into Mickey’s back. Mickey shook himself and shuffled on his knees up the bed, and Ian realized just in time that Mickey had misunderstood.

          “I mean,” he said, and Mickey froze, “I want you to sit on my face.”

          Mickey paused. Then he shrugged and repositioned himself, settling further up above Ian’s head, but right before he lowered himself down Ian interrupted again. He tried hard to keep the complaining tone to a minimum as he said, “Take the cuffs off first!”

          He could hear Mickey muttering impatient obscenities but ignored him, waiting for the telltale sound of the handcuffs unclicking. Ian shook them off as soon as he was free, and they fell somewhere behind the bed in his haste to get a decent grip on Mickey’s hips and ass.

          “You ready now, your highness?”

          Ian rolled his eyes but decided not to respond, knowing that the ensuing slew of sarcastic comments would only prolong the time before he could taste Mickey again. Instead, he nodded eagerly, pressing his fingers deeper into the soft, dense skin of his ass.

          “Mhm.”

          Mickey made a little scoffing noise and Ian pressed his nails into his flesh. When that failed to prompt Mickey to do anything, Ian adopted the best threatening voice he had.

          “Mickey, will you fuckin—mmf!” The end of his sentence was cut off by Mickey rocking back down on him, and Ian gratefully abandoned his reprimand to lick a long stripe over his hole. Mickey groaned and leaned forwards, probably bracing himself better against the headboard, but Ian didn’t bother looking to see; he had access to much more of Mickey now and subsequently had more pressing interests with which to busy himself. He took full advantage of the new angle, lapping up at Mickey, and oh _God_. He could taste himself when he dipped his tongue into Mickey, and Mickey’s moans when he did it again and again vibrated down to the core of his being. Ian could feel it around his tongue and he couldn’t think straight, didn’t want to, wanted to just keep licking at his rim and tasting him inside, wanted to lay there forever with Mickey over him, his moans getting increasingly louder the longer Ian kept at it.

          He pulled back, licking spit and cum away from his lips and said, “Jerk yourself off, Mickey, go on. I can’t do everything.”

          “Fuckface,” Mickey muttered, but Ian heard the slick sound of him fucking his fist a few seconds later.

          “That’s the idea,” Ian said blithely, and before Mickey could say anything else he tilted his chin up to get his tongue back on him, and Mickey’s snide reply was replaced with more chest-deep, hearty moans. Ian licked deeper at him, in him, wanting to hear more of those sounds, wanting to hear them louder.

          Ian could feel Mickey’s thighs shuddering a few minutes later. He lapped at him with newfound vigor, wanting to feel him splinter apart. Mickey sat back even further when he came, shaking around Ian’s tongue, and Ian didn’t stop until Mickey was spent.

          They had to get up and meet their family for an early dinner, but Ian burrowed into Mickey’s shoulder anyway as soon as he laid down next to him, hoping to get in a quick power-nap while Mickey was recovering. Mickey wrapped an arm around him and Ian nuzzled against him, flinging one arm over his waist and entangling their legs. He pressed a kiss to Mickey’s shoulder and settled in more comfortably.

          “I should eat you out more often,” Ian whispered. “You taste so fucking good.”

          He got the full force of Mickey’s reddening face right before he closed his eyes and drifted into a light sleep.

 

 

\+ 1

          Ian really fucking hated Mickey sometimes. However much he loved him (and he did, so, so much—so much it fucking terrified him at times), his anger seemed to crash over him ten times stronger when he was pissed off at Mickey than when he was peeved with anyone else.

          When he shouldered his way into their bedroom that night, rage radiating from him like heat waves off a furnace, he found Mickey propped up against the headboard, reading some stupid magazine like he didn’t care about anything at all. Which he probably didn’t, the fucker. He looked up when Ian entered, his welcoming smile so easy and natural-looking that Ian almost believed it.

          “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian yelled by way of greeting. At Mickey’s raised eyebrows, he threw his phone down on the bed like it held all the incriminating details of Mickey’s evident betrayal, glaring between it and Mickey in disgust.

          “What?” Mickey asked calmly.

          Ian sputtered incoherently for a second before he managed to spit out, “You called _Iggy_?”

          Mickey held his hands up, caught and instantly on the defensive. “He’s my right-hand man. And he and I handled the job no problem by the way, so it’s not—”

          Ian stalked closer, balling up his fists in an effort to resist the urge to smack him. “I distinctly remember telling you _not_ to call anyone!” he shouted. “We’re having problems, or you think you can fix it, or whatever—you come to _me_. Not your fucking brother and the rest of the mob squad! You know how much I fucking hate having to be told by _Iggy_ of all people that we’re all good on rent because you and him scored us _two thousand dollars_ on a job? What the fuck, Mickey!” he yelled before Mickey could even open his mouth. “I could have made that money! Instead you throw us ass-deep into trouble we don’t need to be in, not with everyone still on our ass about that shit you pulled last month. I said I would handle it—”

          “But you don’t _have_ to handle it!” Mickey interrupted him, throwing his hands up. “We had it covered. We _did_ cover it. I’m not gonna apologize for _helping_!”

          Ian climbed onto the foot of the bed, towering over where Mickey lay across the mattress. He pulled him down so that he was lying flat, throwing his magazine away and confining him in between the arms on either side of his head.

          “I _said_ I would deal with it,” Ian growled. “I don’t need you looking after me all the goddamn time. I can deal with some fucking overtime.”

          “I was helping,” Mickey repeated stubbornly. His arms were crossed over his chest in a manner that reminded Ian strongly of a two year old who didn’t want to admit they’d been bad, even though they were sitting in a pile of broken glass.

          Ian pressed closer until their noses were practically touching. “Yeah? _Don’t_. You getting into trouble is the last thing we need.”

          “I’m not in trouble,” Mickey pointed out. “We made it out, no one got caught—yeah, Joey chipped a tooth, but that moron would fuck up taking a piss. Everything went fine. We’re all _fine_.”

          “I still think you’re a fucking idiot,” Ian said, glare not waning at all in the face of Mickey’s indifference.

          But in his supreme focus in glaring at Mickey with everything he had, his hips had dropped without noticing, falling against Mickey’s. Mickey suddenly grinned. He reached his hand down to palm at Ian’s hardening cock which, traitor that it was, was reacting to Mickey’s proximity and his own rocketing enraged hormones without his permission. Mickey cocked his head, his tongue running idly over his lips.

          “Oh yeah?” Mickey said, teasing now. “That all you’re thinking?”

          Ian hissed as Mickey kept at it, massaging him through his jeans. Mickey leaned up to kiss his neck and Ian reared back, but before Mickey’s hand could still for too long Ian gave in to the feel of Mickey underneath him. He ripped off his shirt and dove back in, rocking down against Mickey.

          The kisses were more rough than soft, bruising rather than loving, but Ian didn’t care. His energy was high and he needed somewhere to siphon it off. So when they managed to yank all of their clothes off and Mickey tried to roll over, Ian held him fast, face-up on the mattress.

          “You wanna do this face-to-face?” Mickey asked, arms coming up to wrap around Ian’s neck.

          “No,” Ian said.

          He didn’t move, but didn’t release him either. Mickey started to squirm against his hold, legs coming up around his waist and trying to grind Ian’s hard cock against his ass, but Ian shoved him down harder into the bed.

          “You didn’t listen to me,” he reminded Mickey.

          Mickey’s legs dropped back to the mattress, and although he looked back at him bemusedly, Ian could feel his fingernails digging into the back of his neck and knew that Mickey could sense something was coming.

          “You think you deserve to have me fuck you?” Ian continued, leaning closer. His voice was low, lecherous. He nosed at the line of Mickey’s throat and paused to suck harshly at the spot. He pulled back when satisfied, eying the forthcoming bruise with approval before continuing, “You think you deserve to have me inside you, my cock filling you up? That I should just pound you so fucking hard you’re screaming for it, like I always do?”

          Ian felt the full-body shiver that went through Mickey as he clutched at him tighter. Ian laughed darkly against his throat and kissed it once before pulling back, leveling Mickey with a hooded look.

          “Come on, man,” Mickey said, trying to affect an offhand tone and missing by a few hundred miles.

          “When you don’t listen to me, I can’t give you what you want.” Though it came out like a purr, Ian’s glower must have told Mickey that he was serious; Ian could see him swallow hard, eyes tracing avidly over his throat.

          “So what then?” said Mickey, still aiming for casual. “You gonna blue-ball me and go to sleep?” He pressed his hips up against Ian’s again, dragging his cock against his. But Ian couldn’t be so easily tempted. If he was steered away from ire every time Mickey touched his dick, he would lose every fight they had.

          “No.” Ian sat up on top of him, stopping him from moving further. He watched Mickey closely, and thought by the way Mickey’s eyes widened that he could pinpoint the exact moment that Mickey realized what was coming.

          Mickey watched him, looking both apprehensive and hypnotized, as Ian reached back and slowly began to stretch himself open. He moaned exaggeratedly, basking in Mickey’s reaction when Mickey licked his parted lips and thrust faintly against his ass. Ian drew out the preparations, going especially slow to make up for it when Mickey started to jack him off, to remind Mickey who was in charge now. He felt like he had had his own fingers in himself forever when he finally pulled out and settled his hands on Mickey’s waist. He lined himself up with Mickey’s cock, eyes heavy on Mickey’s face, and began to push down onto him.

          Ian went slow, not used to bottoming that often. He had to stop and catch his breath a few times, but he enjoyed Mickey’s shallow breathing and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and he took his time seating himself fully over him. When he was all the way down, Mickey’s fingers scrabbled against him, hips moving slightly.

          Ian shoved him down, keeping him still as he began lifting himself up in tiny thrusts, going so slow he could feel Mickey’s impatience mounting. By the time he was fucking himself properly, Mickey’s hands were everywhere—his legs, his sides, brushing over his nipples, reaching for his face like he wanted to bring Ian down to him. Ian grabbed his wrists in one hand and slammed them onto the bed over his head, keeping a tight grip on Mickey’s waist to prevent him from quickening the leisurely pace Ian had set. The burn of his thighs was killing him, but it was worth it to see how red Mickey had gotten, his cheeks and chest aflame, his cock hard and throbbing inside of him, and Ian could feel _everything._

          Mickey was muttering his name, struggling against both his holds. Ian clicked his tongue loudly enough that Mickey’s eyes flickered back open. He bent closer, making sure Mickey had nowhere to look but at him.

          “What do you want?” he murmured.

          He could feel Mickey’s bottom lip trembling. “I want to fuck you,” Mickey gasped out. “Really fuck you. And fuck, I want to touch you—want to spread you open a-and…fuck, I want my fucking fingers in your mouth and around your cock, I want—”

          Ian shushed him, slowing his rhythm even more to feel Mickey’s hips stutter and hear the broken cry from his lips. He leaned closer, close enough that his lips brushed Mickey’s when he spoke.

          “I know,” he said, thumbing over the veins on Mickey’s wrist where his arms were still held down on the pillow. “But you know what?”

          Mickey didn’t answer, but he bit down hard on his own bottom lip. Ian bypassed his mouth, as he lowered his mouth to his skin, kissing along his jaw despite the way Mickey turned his head to chase his lips. He continued until he was at the hinge of his jaw, breathing it right into his ear: “Boys who don’t listen don’t get what they want.”

          Mickey gave a choked cry, throaty and needy, and Ian kissed the side of his neck somewhat apologetically, although the action had a slight tease to it too. Mickey’s hands twitched in his. Ian sat up and, without warning, tripled his pace over Mickey’s cock.

          “Fuck!” Mickey shouted. Ian tightened his grip over Mickey’s wrists but finally let go of his waist, letting Mickey thrust up into him until they were both moaning for it, and Ian’s head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he continued to move on top of him.

          Ian was lithe, still loose and strong from his dancing days, and he fucked himself down onto Mickey with abandon. He fisted his now-free hand into Mickey’s hair and when he came, he tugged it harshly so that Mickey followed him over the edge with his teeth sunk into Ian’s shoulder.

          They collapsed side-by-side on their backs when they were through. Although nothing had been solved, Ian felt his anger had been effectively fucked out of him, and he didn’t protest when he felt Mickey’s fingers creeping down to entwine with his.

          Mickey’s voice was quiet when it came.

          “Sorry I didn’t tell you about the job,” he said.

          Ian pressed a kiss to his shoulder and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for covering rent,” he returned.

          Mickey snorted and released his hand. He pulled Ian over until he was laying with his head resting on Mickey’s stomach. Ian hummed appreciatively and nestled into his boyfriend; Mickey did make a very soft and comfortable pillow. Mickey smoothed his hand through Ian’s hair in a gentle, repetitive motion.

          “You okay?” he asked.

          Ian hummed, finding Mickey’s free hand again and enclosing it in his own. Ian could hear the grin in his voice when Mickey said, “Well, you won’t be so sure in the morning.”

          Ian snickered and jabbed at his stomach. “Guess we’ll just have to switch back positions then for awhile. God damn it.”

          Mickey laughed with him. “Oh, fuck. Guess we’re shit out of luck, huh?”

          “It’s for my health,” Ian agreed gravely.

          They exchanged a few more teasing words before quietening, and drifting off into a shared sleep.

          Mickey ended up being right—Ian’s ass hurt like a bitch in the morning. He didn’t mind; he just made sure to pay Mickey back twofold later that night.

**Author's Note:**

> a secret weakness for praise kink? what? who, me?
> 
> Seriously, I need a bath. In holy water.
> 
> talk to me more about mickey riding dick on tumblr at fuku-up


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